


Together

by dramady, jeck



Category: Boondock Saints (Movies)
Genre: M/M, brothercest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-28
Updated: 2011-05-28
Packaged: 2017-10-19 20:49:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/205061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dramady/pseuds/dramady, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeck/pseuds/jeck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's late and they don't talk about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Together

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Not ours, please don't sue.

McGinty's was maddeningly loud, boisterous and crowded. Murphy was where he usually sat, a barstool right smack dab in the middle of the bar. All their buddies were there and they were all goofing around and making fun of Doc, as usual. Rocco and Connor the loudest of them all.

Murphy just downed another shot of whisky, quiet now, his eyes roaming over the people still there. His eyes landed on his brother and Murph's lips lift slightly as he watched. And he always watched Connor.

"Hey! Fuck-ass! Can I get another shot?" Rocco yelled at doc with a laugh.

He was handed one amidst all the clamor and Connor looked over long enough to catch his brother's eye. With a raise of the eyebrow, he asked if all was okay. Connor might be the louder one, but Murph was a good barometer; one Connor trusted with his life.

When Murph smiled, it was the crooked one that he showed Connor and then he gave his brother a small nod as a reply. He was fine. He just liked looking at Connor especially when the other wasn't looking. Now he looked bashful, because he got caught.

Murph looked away, asking Doc for a beer, patting Rocco on the shoulder when he took a long swig. Murphy could feel Connor's stare and, Mary full of grace, he hoped he didn't blush.

Aye, but he did. And only Connor knew that when Murphy blushed, it stained his chest, splotching the pale skin rosy. Best not to be thinking of that. Connor drank up his beer and gestured for another one.

Hours passed this way and by the time Doc finally kicked them out, they were leaning on each other to stay upright. Connor was _still_ laughing and gesturing, rehashing how he'd got one over both on Rocco, who'd stumbled toward his home the other way, and those bastard Flanery boys who thought their shit didn't stink.

"That fucker," Connor declared as they walked (nay, listed). "That fucker! Did you see how fucking red that he turned when he realized it?" That Connor had boxed him in, verbally that was. "Did you see it?!"

"Aye," Murph agreed, nodding with a jerk of his head. "How could I miss it? You were too fuckin' loud," he slurred, while wrapping his arm tighter around Connor's waist and pressing him to his side.

That act caused them to stumble and Murphy had to lay his free hand against the wall, tugging Connor along and they had to stop and lean against it. Murphy laughed, thinking that amusing. "Fuck."

"You're drunk, brother," Connor told him with a wide grin. "Poor lad!" He lightly smacked at Murphy's cheek with his free hand. "Besides. I wasn't loud, I was _emphatic_." Ha. He stayed there, though, leaning against his brother, warm and firm. He let his eyes roam Murphy's face. Handsomest face he knew. Aside from his own, of course!

Murphy met Connor's gaze and he knew he'd never win a stare-down with Connor and once he felt his cheeks heat even more (the imbibing was blamed for the constant flush tonight), he looked down, but peeked with a flick of his eyes up to see Connor's face, his eyes lingering on those lips.

But they were _outside_. Shit like this only happened when they were both drunk like this, in the dark, under the sheets, in the privacy of their place. Not here in the shadows of a sidewalk.

The moment stretched on and on until, with a sheer force of will, Connor shoved Murphy toward home, watching him stumble and laughing before he caught him. Even drunk, he wasn't an idiot.

But once inside, the door shut and latched, that's when Connor grabbed the lapel of his brother's coat and tugged him closer. Even then they lurched dangerously.

Each time this happened, Murphy was always at a loss what to say, what to do. He usually stared at Connor, eyes questioning but behind the gaze, therein lay trust and love.

But they never talked about _that_.

Murphy never realized that every single time they found themselves like this, close and pressed and a hair's breadth away, his breathing shallowed and he was softly panting. Maybe it was nerves, but most likely it was anticipation. He swallowed thickly, scanning Connor's face while slowly licking around his lips.

He always looked slightly scared. That was what tugged at Connor's heart most of all. Sure, their ma never told them which of them came out of the womb first, but Connor always thought it was him. It just made sense; he led and Murphy followed.

They were still a breath apart and he asked, quiet as air, "all right?"

"Y-yeah," There was just that slight bit of hesitation before Murphy answered. And yes, he wasn't moving, wasn't doing anything at all to either push Connor away, or coerce him to do whatever it was they did when they were so far drunk like this. Neither of them ever wanted to name it because if they did, then they'd have to truly acknowledge that it was _real_.

But then Murphy was always the passionate one, the emotional one, the one who moved on instinct and gut. That meant that Connor would be the one waiting because Murphy? He was always, always the one who made the first move.

Murphy suddenly pushed Connor with a thud toward the concrete wall, lips touching lips and teeth clacking together as their mouths found each other. The sound of their breath was harsh and stilted between them.

Then hands grabbed and pulled and the breathing only got more shallow and more harsher.

The mattresses were filthy like the rest of the flat. But that didn't matter. Murphy fell first, onto his back, Connor following, landing on him, only part of his weight caught on his elbows. Clothes were puddled at the foot of the mattress and Connor didn't realize he was chanting his brother's name.

Connor's added weight, he knew, pushed those uncomfortable springs to dig into Murphy's back but there was no time, no room to stop. Naked, the bed covers now loose and tangling around them, they both didn't notice because they were all mouths and hands and naked skin touching.

"Fuck, Connor!" Murphy grabbed his brother by the ass cheeks, squeezing and pulling him down to press between his spread legs. "Fuck!"

There was a joke to be made about Murphy needing to have his mouth washed out, but Connor didn't make it. He was rocking his hips like a randy schoolboy, the friction hot and sharp through his beer-soaked system. It made them both lose all inhibition - Murphy, especially.

Writhing almost wantonly under Connor, Murphy kept gasping his brother's name, even begging for whatever unnamed, unspecified thing it was that Connor had planned for him - for them. His fingers slipped between them, wrapping around both their cocks and stroking while Murph rocked upward toward Connor's strong and steady body.

More. There was no mistaking that Murphy's body was begging for _more_. And never let it be said that Connor let his brother want for anything it was in his power to provide. It was a matter of pride. They watched out for each other.

"Shh, brother, shhh," Connor all but crooned, prying those fingers away. He kissed, teeth digging in, along the column of Murphy's neck and then he heard his brother whimper.

"Well, fucking _do_ something!" Murphy smacked Connor upside of his head.

"Did you fucking -" Did Murphy hit Connor when Connor was being sweet?! Fucker! With a grunt, Connor caught Murphy's wrist. Time to teach him a lesson! Maybe a knee to the balls, eh? Not hard, mind you, or sharp, but a _push_.

"AH! FUCK!" Murphy yelled and someone from the apartment below them yelled back for them to keep the fuck quiet.

This earned Connor a very sharp glare from Murphy. Only, it didn't last long. Murph suddenly looked unsure but then the expression, and his movement just turned all confused. He rut against that knee and when he realized what he was doing (he was so easy for Connor to fucking _read_ ), he would pull back and away only to repeat it again … and again.  
His brother was a _slut_.

Of course, Connor knew that, only too well. Time for him to take control of the situation.

Of course, there was no movie telling them how to do this. Just instinct and a few glances at a few dirty magazines when no one was looking.

Hand on the back of Murphy's neck got him turned over, belly and cheek to the bed. In a flash, Connor saw the rosaries on the wall, but that wasn't what mattered. No, he licked two fingers and before he could think any more about it, he _pushed_ them in. It was hot and tight and he twisted his wrist.

When they got to this part, _especially_ this part, they both relied on instinct.

And it was instinct that told Murphy to lift his arse in the air, present it to his brother, bracing his hands on the squeaking bed so that he was on both hands and knees. Connor knew what to do. It wasn't always accurate, wasn't always right and, therefore, wasn't, at most times, comfortable. But the way he pushed his ass back should tell his brother that he was wanting and needy. "Connor …"

"Aye." There were a million different ways Murphy said his brother's name and Connor understood every one. One hand pumped and the other, reached under, firm and quick around Murphy's cock, stroking lightly, taunting.

Murphy pressed his forehead to the bed, gasping sharply at the touch, his body _keening_. The more Connor moved his fingers, the more Murphy felt himself be open and loose for him. He started to rock back and forth, in rhythm with the movement of Connor's fingers. "Fuck …! Me …!"

"Quit yer yellin!" Even if Mruphy couldn't see it, Connor was grinning, wide and bright. Of course, the need, dark, was in his eyes, shading them nearly black as he pulled his fingers free, spit and slicked himself, then was shoving in. He gave his brother what he wanted. Always.

With a low growl Murphy took it, pushing back slowly, bearing down to welcome his brother inside him. He kept gasping, "Connor … oh, god, Connor!" Like the name was a prayer and he didn't stop until Connor was seated deep inside him, his arse pressed to Connor's hips. Murphy's muscles clenched around that hot cock, adjusting, helped along by the rocking of those hips, til they both felt the warm sizzle of pleasure.

Could it be a sin, they'd both wondered in their own time, this? To rely wholly on each other for every need? How could that be wrong?

Then Connor started to move, hands bracketing Murphy's hips as he pulled nearly free then shoved back in, relishing the sound of skin slapping against skin.

They moved together seamlessly, knowing instinct drove them, telling them both what to do, how to move. Murphy pushed his hips back and met each thrust, gasping out stuttered breaths as he reached behind him to grab on to Connor's hip and urge him deeper, _more_.

It went quiet save inarticulate groans and the sound of their bodies moving. At some point, Connor wrapped a hand around Murphy's cock, his chest against his brother's back, eyes shut, then open because he started to get dizzy. He knew when Murphy was close and he rocked his hips harder, tightening his grip.

The rhythm was perfect and it only heightened the pleasure already wrapped all around them both. Murphy couldn't help but keep moaning, arching his back so that they were completely pressed back to chest. He tilted his head back, too, resting with his temple to Connor's cheek while they both panted for breath. So close. So close.

Together. They were going to come _together_. There was no other way. Besides if one came and the other didn't, it just caused a fight.

Connor held his breath as he waited, letting it out when he felt the first tell tale jerk of Murphy's body. He let go and came, mouth to sweat-damp skin in a silent shout.

Funny how, as loud and boisterous as they usually were, they both came and came quietly. Just barely heard gasps, hardly there whispering of names and words neither would repeat if they weren't intoxicated from sex and alcohol.

It was as if what they shared between them was too sacred an act to share with _anyone_ , not even empty space surrounding them.

Later, Murphy had his back to Connor, spooned together while their bodies cooled and their breathing had finally evened out. But the buzz of the drinks was slowly dissipating and even if it was never something uncomfortable, it remained something unspoken between them. Murph would have to move soon. Back to his bed with no warmth of Connor's body behind him. He made a move to pry himself away from his brother' stopped by the tightening of Connor's arm before he let go. A silent sign of affection that was far beyond brotherly love.

When Murphy settled on the other mattress, Connor was looking back at him, sheet barely slung over his hips. "I gotta piss," he said, but he didn't move, cheeks still flushed from their exertions.

"Me, too." Murphy lay heavily on the bed, his eyes, even in the dark, was good and fixed on Connor. Neither of them moved.

The next day, Murphy woke up slowly, groaning as he rolled all the way to the edge so he could easily slide his legs off the side, pushing to sit up. Connor was there and after rubbing the muck from his eyes, Murph looked at him, lips in a slow smile. "'Mornin'."

"Aye." They had time for church before work. But Connor was caught in that grin for a moment and had to shake himself out of it. He stood up, sheet slipping from his body as he extended a hand to help his brother up.

Murphy took the offered hand and pulled himself to his feet, shoulder bumping Connor's chest in the process. He lingered there, stuck between his legs, still caught in Connor's gaze. "There best be hot water," he said, just to break the moment. Then Murphy made his way to the showers, knowing there was no escaping the combined blurred and vivid memories of last night once they stood naked side by side.

There wasn't, but not twenty minutes later, they were on the street, cigarettes lit, heading for the church. Their strides matched without thought.

When they knelt at the pew, neither MacManus thought of the night prior as they prayed for strength and wisdom and guidance. Truth and Justice - that was what they lived by.

Murphy always told everyone they knew that they had to go to church in the mornings. Just had to. Because it was like a cleansing, the perfect way to start the day and a way to make sure they were on the straight and narrow. Together.

Together. Aye, that was the kicker, wasn't it? That was the kicker. Connor and Murphy did everything together.

Everything.

 _...and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. For thine is the Kingdom, the power and the glory, forever._

 _Amen_

They rose together, going out into the sun.


End file.
